Archive for the ‘Queer Columns’ Category

Perhaps the most brutal and punishing scene in Todd Haynes’ 1991 ‘queer’ drama Poison – a film largely renowned for its barrage of brutal, punishing scenes – is one in which a young homosexual is beaten, verbally taunted and, with his jaw prised open, spat on by a group of jeering male peers. The boy quietly wilts in a corner, petals being rained on him from above, the bright blue sky and soft, sepia tones jarringly incongruous to the horror being inflicted upon him. The scene, dubbed “repellent” by many on its initial release, is now seen as one of many decisive turning points depicting the homosexual experience onscreen: unapologetic in its imagery, unflinching in its symbolic violence, though applicable to any social group that had been deemed abnormal by contemporary society. In reflecting the ostensible prejudices of a straight audience back at them, Haynes had successfully rendered homosexuality not as the unique affliction of a few, but a wider problem of social exclusion and confused, rootless identity that had the potential to affect all who could bear to watch.

Haynes’ underrated feature-length debut remains possibly the most powerful example of the so-called ‘New Queer Cinema’ movement of the early 1990s, which was a rare confluence of common themes and purposes from gay directors that aimed not only to redress the imbalance of negative cinematic stereotypes of the past, but also to shock its viewers out of their complacency. Drawing upon the underground experimentation of their cinematic forbears (Kenneth Anger, Derek Jarman, et al) and flourishing at Sundance in a period that would also give rise to Quentin Tarantino and Steven Soderbergh, this clutch of films that included Gus Van Sant’s Mala Noche, Tom Kalin’s Swoon and Gregg Araki’s The Living End, announced these directors as major cinematic talents, and not simply gay ones. Their films were bigger than life, often abrasive, always deliberately confrontational; seeming to encapsulate the possibilities of American independent filmmaking at the turn of twenty-first century. Now, in 2010, with their names rapidly becoming as anonymous as straight indie icons like Whit Stillman and Hal Hartley, one wonders whatever happened to this school of cinema which may splutter into life occasionally (Mysterious Skin, Savage Grace, Tarnation), but has ultimately been superseded by an onslaught of benign camp, ironic kitsch, and straight actors ‘gaying up’ in often successful attempts to win Academy Awards.

Painting a picture of current ‘gay’ cinema this bleak is perhaps somewhat unfair, as it is a fate that has befallen all American independent cinema of late, marked by being toothless, mawkish, and often bereft of any individualism that dares venture outside of an accepted comfort zone of ‘kook’ and ‘quirk’. The perception in the mainstream, however, is decidedly different. Surely an Oscar year that promises major nominations from three openly gay men (Nine, A Single Man, Precious), coupled with several blockbusters that peddle subtextual homoerotic themes featuring “very butch homosexuals” as their protagonists (Sherlock Holmes and, for my money, Star Trek) is reason in and of itself for celebrating the gains wrought by gay rights in recent decades. You need only glance at the meteoric rise of Gus Van Sant from underground cult figure to mainstream celebrated Oscar-winner, with Milk the latest and most successful prestige picture after Brokeback Mountain and Philadelphia to be spotlighted by the Academy. Similar conclusions may be drawn about savage iconoclast John Waters, who used to make films about drag queens eating faeces, and is presumably now basking in the glow of royalty cheques following both the remake and Broadway success of Hairspray. John Cameron Mitchell, too, has admirably traversed the boundaries of gender identity in Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Shortbus. This is without mentioning the brilliant ‘coming out’ scene in Bryan Singer’s X-Men II, gay presence on television in Queer as Folk, The L Word and Doctor Who, Lynn Shelton’s Humpday, the international prestige of Pedro Almodóvar, or even the ubiquity of Sacha Baron Cohen’s Brüno. It would appear, on the surface of things, a great time to be gay.

The willingness of Hollywood to accommodate only the aspects of homosexuality that accord with award prestige or box office expediency, though, has the potential to either expose pre-existing bigotry or simply reinforce it. One need only look at the way in which such lazy stereotyping has been exploited in the witless Horne & Corden sketch show with its screeching, casual homophobia as objectionable as a blackface minstrel show; whilst ‘You’re so gay’ remains the schoolyard pejorative du jour. The limitations of cinema in perpetuating this singular viewpoint is particularly noticeable in the dearth of documentaries – films such as Before Stonewall and The Life and Times of Harvey Milk, once so decisively instrumental and examples of cinema itself instigating change by debunking harmful myth, now a thing of the past. Robbed of any essential edginess that was present in mainstream cinema as recently as Bound, The Talented Mr. Ripley and Peter Jackson’s masterful Heavenly Creatures, the consignment of New Queer Cinema and its ilk to the rubbish-heap of cinema history is emblematic of both how normalised and unadventurous gay cinema has become; homosexuality something to be achieved as readily as Nicole Kidman donning a false nose and flouncing about doing her best Virginia Woolf impression.

1991 never seemed so long ago.

So the Pope has condemned homosexuals yet again for no other reason than their being gay. This time, however, there appears to be a certain sense of urgency in his voice.

The reason? The UK Government wants to force the Catholic Church to open all lay positions within its bureaucracy in this country to everyone, independent of their orientation.

The Catholic Church claims that homosexuality is contrary to the laws of nature and so argues that it would be inappropriate to employ people who do not live up to its exacting moral standards. The UK government, on the other hand, argues that it would be wrong to give the Catholic Church a special “opt-out” of the same 2006 Equalities Act which holds fast for every other employer in this country.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, secularists and gay rights organisations such as Stonewall have all been protesting against the Pope’s pleas to grant the Catholic Church precisely this opt-out. However, far from being an apparently clear-cut case of unjust discrimination by one party (the Church) against another (gay people), we are stuck, I think, in a serious moral dilemma with no easy resolution.

What we are faced with is a conflict between two fundamental human rights. On the one hand, the Pope argues that to force it to follow through this new “Equality Bill”, if it becomes law, will impose “unjust limitations on the freedom of religious communities to act in accordance with their beliefs”. In other words, the Catholic Church will be forced to do something it believes is immoral.

Yet the UK Government is also entrusted with a mandate to preserve the equal liberties of all of its citizens, irrespective of their beliefs. To refuse to employ people according to their gender preference may be construed, moreover, as a breach of the European Convention of Human Rights.

With whom should we side? I’m not too sure: what I worry about, however, is the temptation the government may experience to compel the Catholic Church to follow the law irrespective of any effective consultation.

Perhaps the most brutal and punishing scene in Todd Haynes’ 1991 ‘queer’ drama Poison – a film largely renowned for its barrage of brutal, punishing scenes – is one in which a young homosexual is beaten, verbally taunted and, with his jaw prised open, spat on by a group of jeering male peers. The boy quietly wilts in a corner, petals being rained on him from above, the bright blue sky and soft, sepia tones jarringly incongruous to the horror being inflicted upon him.

The scene, dubbed “repellent” by many on its initial release, is now seen as one of many decisive turning points depicting the homosexual experience onscreen: unapologetic in its imagery, unflinching in its symbolic violence, though applicable to any social group that had been deemed abnormal by contemporary society. In reflecting the ostensible prejudices of a straight audience back at them, Haynes had successfully rendered homosexuality not as the unique affliction of a few, but a wider problem of social exclusion and confused, rootless identity that had the potential to affect all who could bear to watch.

Haynes’ underrated feature-length debut remains possibly the most powerful example of the so-called ‘New Queer Cinema’ movement of the early 1990s, which was a rare confluence of common themes and purposes from gay directors that aimed not only to redress the imbalance of negative cinematic stereotypes of the past, but also to shock its viewers out of their complacency. Drawing upon the underground experimentation of their cinematic forbears (Kenneth Anger, Derek Jarman, et al) and flourishing at Sundance in a period that would also give rise to Quentin Tarantino and Steven Soderbergh, this clutch of films that included Gus Van Sant’s Mala Noche, Tom Kalin’s Swoon and Gregg Araki’s The Living End, announced these directors as major cinematic talents, and not simply gay ones. Their films were bigger than life, often abrasive, always deliberately confrontational; seeming to encapsulate the possibilities of American independent filmmaking at the turn of twenty-first century.

Now, in 2010, with their names rapidly becoming as anonymous as straight indie icons like Whit Stillman and Hal Hartley, one wonders whatever happened to this school of cinema which may splutter into life occasionally (Mysterious Skin, Savage Grace, Tarnation), but has ultimately been superseded by an onslaught of benign camp, ironic kitsch, and straight actors ‘gaying up’ in often successful attempts to win Academy Awards.

Painting a picture of current ‘gay’ cinema this bleak is perhaps somewhat unfair, as it is a fate that has befallen all American independent cinema of late, marked by being toothless, mawkish, and often bereft of any individualism that dares venture outside of an accepted comfort zone of ‘kook’ and ‘quirk’. The perception in the mainstream, however, is decidedly different. Surely an Oscar year that promises major nominations from three openly gay men (Nine, A Single Man, Precious), coupled with several blockbusters that peddle subtextual homoerotic themes featuring “very butch homosexuals” as their protagonists (Sherlock Holmes and, for my money, Star Trek) is reason in and of itself for celebrating the gains wrought by gay rights in recent decades.

You need only glance at the meteoric rise of Gus Van Sant from underground cult figure to mainstream celebrated Oscar-winner, with Milk the latest and most successful prestige picture after Brokeback Mountain and Philadelphia to be spotlighted by the Academy. Similar conclusions may be drawn about savage iconoclast John Waters, who used to make films about drag queens eating faeces, and is presumably now basking in the glow of royalty cheques following both the remake and Broadway success of Hairspray. John Cameron Mitchell, too, has admirably traversed the boundaries of gender identity in Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Shortbus.

This is without mentioning the brilliant ‘coming out’ scene in Bryan Singer’s X-Men II, gay presence on television in Queer as Folk, The L Word and Doctor Who, Lynn Shelton’s Humpday, the international prestige of Pedro Almodóvar, or even the ubiquity of Sacha Baron Cohen’s Brüno. It would appear, on the surface of things, a great time to be gay.

The willingness of Hollywood to accommodate only the aspects of homosexuality that accord with award prestige or box office expediency, though, has the potential to either expose pre-existing bigotry or simply reinforce it. One need only look at the way in which such lazy stereotyping has been exploited in the witless Horne & Corden sketch show with its screeching, casual homophobia as objectionable as a blackface minstrel show; whilst ‘You’re so gay’ remains the schoolyard pejorative du jour.

The limitations of cinema in perpetuating this singular viewpoint is particularly noticeable in the dearth of documentaries – films such as Before Stonewall and The Life and Times of Harvey Milk, once so decisively instrumental and examples of cinema itself instigating change by debunking harmful myth, now a thing of the past. Robbed of any essential edginess that was present in mainstream cinema as recently as Bound, The Talented Mr. Ripley and Peter Jackson’s masterful Heavenly Creatures, the consignment of New Queer Cinema and its ilk to the rubbish-heap of cinema history is emblematic of both how normalised and unadventurous gay cinema has become; homosexuality something to be achieved as readily as Nicole Kidman donning a false nose and flouncing about doing her best Virginia Woolf impression.

1991 never seemed so long ago.